Health Hazard
by Darkflame's Pyre
Summary: It is a proven fact that the most serious of accidents occur in the home... Or beneath it, as the case may be... A belated Birthday fic for Loopstagirl. TOS, as per her request.


**A/N: So… This is a rather late birthday present for Loopstagirl, but I've finally gotten something up... Not sure how many parts it's gonna be, or how long it's gonna take me to get it completed, but we'll see what comes… Many thanks to LexietFive for the quick beta and for the title. Can't remember how much you've actually seen, L, but enjoy my dear. Xx**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own** _ **Thunderbirds**_ **, in any incarnation; only my OCs, the plot, and the instances within which they occur in my stories. All rights and ownership go to the Gerry Anderson Estate, Carlton International, Granada Ventures, StudioCanal/Working Title/Universal and now, ITV, Pukeko and Weta Workshop. I am only borrowing Scott and his family and I promise to return them - mostly unharmed - when I'm finished.**

Scott knows he's in trouble when the cutter slips. It's not like he doesn't have a good grip on the handle, and he's wearing the right gear and the safety cut-off switch on the electronic blade is activated like it should be. It's not like the job he's doing is dangerous, per se - merely a task of slicing away the damaged panelling from the left side of 'One where he'd been caught in that hurricane yesterday - but apparently dangerous is a relative term, especially when he's suddenly lost his grip on the rather sharp piece of equipment, and a fierce, sharp, _burning_ pain suddenly steals all the breath from his lungs.

He's strung up ninety feet in the air in the harness attached to the nosecone of his 'Bird, the reinforced straps tight around his thighs and shoulders, and Scott vaguely hears the distant clatter and the suddenly-muted buzz of the cutter through the roaring in his ears. Dizziness crashes over him in a wave, and he's suddenly clamping his eyes closed, afraid to reopen them and see exactly what he's done to himself, because his leg should _not_ be hurting this much. Scott knows pretty much exactly what he's gone and done, but he doesn't want to see the damage, which he knows - realistically - is just really stupid. But apparently no matter how well trained a person is in emergency situations, shock tends to do _stupid_ things to reactions.

Gulping down a few shaky breaths as sudden nausea rises up his oesophagus, Scott grabs the grapple line with one hand and his icily-throbbing leg with the other, letting out an undignified whine of pain as the agony focuses itself into a burning, almost-numbing central point above his knee. His head is too full of clanging, screaming, _protesting_ nerve points telling him how much his left leg is literally killing him right now, and so Scott finds himself mildly alarmed to realise that he feels frighteningly lightheaded, even without his vision; closed as his eyes are... _Uh-oh_...

A little unsure at how much time is actually passing - and being alone down here while his brothers deal with stuff on other parts of the island isn't good because he _most definitely_ needs medical attention - Scott counts to a rather faint number three. Laying his head against the wonderfully-cool metal of Thunderbird One's gunmetal-grey hull, he manages to wrench his eyes open as his fingers tighten on their respective tension-releases, steeling himself for an unpleasant shock.

And yeah, there's a large red patch swiftly staining the leg of his coveralls a hideous black-scarlet colour; the fingers pressing futilely over it getting uncomfortably damp as Scott's vision wavers alarmingly. _Shit._

"Okay." Scott manages to say the words out loud, dragging his head up with an effort - _because_ _grounding oneself is very good when you know you're going into shock -_ "Okay Scotty-boy, you gotta get down from here. Losing blood awfully quick..."

However, that appears to be easier said than done. Scott closes his eyes again, feeling nauseous. The problem with that whole issue is… _how_? He knows he needs to move, he needs to call his brothers or Brains or Tin-Tin, even - God, how embarrassing - to get him down, maybe? Call them, and then he can just hang here for a bit and _try_ not to pass out.

Scott doesn't realise that that's _exactly_ what he's done until there's a sickening impact to the side of his head as it slams concussion-hard into the side of his 'Bird.

"Sssshhhhh mmmmfffph…" A sharp gasp of pain bursts through his lips as he tries not to swear, but his head hurts almost worse than his leg now and Scott literally can't open his eyes for the sheer amount of pain suddenly rocketing through his skull. What the hell kind of butterfly did he step on this time?!

"-cott? Scott?" And apparently he's lost consciousness again, because the darkness is retreating once more and he feels extremely sick. Scott can't reconnect his brain right now, so it sounds like Virg is just going to have to hold the line until he can answer. He blinks a little, and it seems that it helps unclog his auditory canals a bit, because Virgil's words seem slightly clearer than they did before. Not that they make much sense in all honesty, but he'll get to that in a minute. This fainting thing is somewhat alarming.

" _Scott!_ " Virgil's tone is somewhat exasperated - or at least that's what Scott determines through the tinny-whistle in his ears - and he thinks absently that Virgil really needs to lower his tone right now; his brain is actually vibrating in his skull and - _yeesh that hurts_!

The quasi-whistle turns abruptly into a real one as the alarm function on Scott's wrist actually scares Scott right out of his bleary state of consciousness. He sucks in a sharp, involuntary breath as he remembers he's still hanging in mid air with a freely-bleeding leg and a clear head injury, and if that's not a bucket of icy water on the warm and sticky dream-fugue he's in at the moment, then he doesn't know what is.

He gulps back the surge of vomit that renews itself, and manages to answer his brother, even if his tongue feels heavy and thick in his mouth, and his hands shake terribly as he tries to put pressure on his leg. He can feel the hot blood flooding down his leg, and he can't even put pressure on it... "Dropped the cutter… Virg." Scott hisses tightly in the direction of his watch - he must've whacked it as he hit his head, he thinks grimly. "I've got myself… pretty badly… Still up'n… harness… Dizzy." Scott adds, somewhat dully, closing his eyes again.

This is _not_ what he'd planned when he woke up this morning...

Scott hears his brother's sharp curse as though he's hearing it through water, and he finds himself suddenly unable to keep his body upright. He knows he has to keep the pressure on the wound on his leg, but his muscles feel like wrung-out sponges, and his head too heavy to lift, his ears ringing rather loudly again. _Mmmmm._ He rests it tiredly against the hull of 'One, and his world goes black.


End file.
